


The ocean in your head is so deep and dark

by cc5



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, emotional hurt without the comfort, just tagged mature in case you head over to the fic it belongs to, late night musings of a broken girl, yea I'm not quite sure what this is sry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-16 22:25:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15447174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cc5/pseuds/cc5
Summary: It's night, it's quiet, and Beth is contemplating her current situation with Daryl on their way back to the ASZ.Ficlet inspired by prompt "Sounds" for Summer of Bethyl 2018.





	The ocean in your head is so deep and dark

**Author's Note:**

> Plays in the universe of my multi-chap And the timing's never right which can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4988377/chapters/11458858  
> (which, yes, I promise to continue, I'm soooorry!)
> 
> Title is a nod to Trigger Warning by Nikita Gill: http://meanwhilepoetry.tumblr.com/post/164146235918
> 
> ENG isn't my first language, all mistake belong to me as this is unbeta'd. Apologies!

It's her right ear, just sometimes. Sound suddenly vanishing, replaced by a ringing noise, often triggering a migraine. Painful, embarrassing, and mostly inconvenient- you can’t hear the dead or living creeping up on you when your hearing is out of commision. But she hasn’t told him that, it would be another thing he’d worry about. Another source of pity and guilt or whatever the fuck that look is he shoots her when he thinks she’s not looking.

But she always notices, always sees. Especially now that her head is so messed up she has to be extremely aware of her surroundings. At least her vision is still 20/20, her eyes might be the only part of her body that haven’t taken any damage one way or another. 

And it’s not from the bullet to her head, started much longer before. Slowly, gradually, maybe some damage from a gun being fired too close to her ear. It doesn’t matter. It is how it is, and how it is, is not exactly ideal. But neither is a bullet to the head, she muses. Thankfully, it is only one ear and she’s not worried about going deaf, though the thought of living without sound has tormented her in her sleep many times. The absence of music, of voices, and eventually of all those memories connected to sound. The dangers aside, it would be further torment in this bland, dangerous world. Lonely, isolated. 

Not that she isn’t that already. 

Daryl is snoring ever so slightly, but that only happens when he falls asleep lying on his back which he rarely does. It amuses her, and a smile creeps up on her face unbidden. She watches him in the pale light of the moon, grunting in his sleep as he turns onto his side and his face is once more hidden from her. They aren’t what they used to be, and she never dared to define what exactly that was to begin with. She keeps him at more than arm’s length, and will for the unforeseeable future. The feeling of guilt creeps up and settles between her shoulder blades like a heavy weight. 

She unfolds her legs, stretches them as quietly as she can. Yes, he’s asleep, but he’s also a light sleeper and she’d promised to take watch. It’s a quiet night, as they mostly are, no sound of walkers or many animals she can make out through the closed window with the exception of a noisy owl every now and again. A safe place to sleep, but sleeping in shifts nonetheless. Her whole body is sore and heavy with exertion, but she'll push on, push through.

The sounds he makes, or doesn’t make, she always liked. Almost soundlessly stepping over the forest floor when tracking, always those mindful soft steps when scavenging. Every movement of his body graceful in a way you wouldn’t expect from a man like him, rough around the edges, tough and oh so deadly when he must. She knows better, knows that his quietness isn’t animosity, but that was quite a lesson to learn. He uses words sparingly and as careful as he uses his bolts. Not talkative, not skilled at small talk, but definitely a man of action, and she wonders if she could bear living without sound around him. Because their language has always been an unspoken one, based on little touches and looks and less in direct sentences. Well, she had tried. Filled every silence with chatter until he literally told her to shut up and now she cannot even remember how it used to be to have the energy to speak that much. She feels old, worn out. Which she won’t admit to him, not ever, that Grady has aged her, has affected her body and mind in ways she’s still trying to figure out when she isn’t busy doing the opposite. 

She’s trying to still figure out a lot. Why she’s sitting in this lodge with Daryl on the way to some place he insists she should go. It’s _logical_ to reunite with her former group, but it’s also _useless_. It’s terribly ironic that she wants to be a vagabond, self-reliant and without ties while Daryl wants to settle down and work towards a future. This role reversal should make her think, but she's too stubborn and angry. This anger, festering in her gut like an infection, is another thing she needs to figure out. Some day. Now she'll just sit here until the sun comes up to announce a fresh day, a clean slate, bright and full of possibilities that lead to the same results over and over again. Another day to fight for survival of body and mind. Another day to fight herself more than anything else.

In the meantime, she relishes the current quietness.  
Silence is bearable around him, now. Comfortable silence, that feels like safety, but that doesn't quite feel like home anymore.

But, she supposes, hearing his breath is the best sound of all, since that means he’s alive, he’s here with her, and neither of them have given up on this wretched world just yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3 comments and critique always welcome :)


End file.
